


Both Alike In Dignity

by Aerlalaith



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic), Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Crack, Crossover, Fluff, Hockey, Humor, Ice Skating, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 08:15:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9313109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerlalaith/pseuds/Aerlalaith
Summary: In which Jack Zimmermann and Eric Bittle encounter J.J. Leroy at a public skate in Montreal. Bitty is a fan. Jack is not.AKA the crossover fic no one asked for (or wanted).





	

**Author's Note:**

> 1) This timeline probably doesn't make sense  
> 2) Title lifted from the opening sonnet of Romeo and Juliet  
> 3) I'm so sorry

The sun was high in the sky, the January wind cold and cutting on their faces, and Bitty’s poor hands, frozen even when encased within the double-layer fleece mittens Jack had gotten him for Christmas, were tucked securely into Jack’s elbow.  
   
The walk from the car was languid and sweet. A gray wool hat was pulled down over Jack’s forehead, and he had wrapped a blue scarf around to hide his face, no Falconers logos in sight. Bitty hummed beside him, cheeks and nose pink, red scarf repeatedly coming undone. With his free hand, Jack reached over to squeeze Bitty’s arm, and Bitty tilted his head to give him a smile. It was, in all senses of the words, a beautiful day.  
   
Jack should have known that it would end in disaster.  
   
Jack paid cash because no way in hell was the gawky teenager in the black uniform _not_ going to see the name ‘Zimmermann’ on his credit card, and Jack’s cheekbones, and fail to put two and two together.  
   
Bitty rolled his eyes when Jack handed over the money, muttering that _he_ could’ve just paid with a card and then they wouldn’t have had to stop at the stupid ATM now would they, Jack? It wasn’t like they were going to recognize _his_ name, was it, Jack?  
   
“I make more money than you.”  
   
“You certainly make something,” Bitty sniffed, turning up his nose, but letting the corner of his mouth twitch anyway.  
   
He allowed Jack to tug him along, after they’d held up their skates in answer to, _“Do you need to rent or do you have some—oh, I see.”_  
   
“I almost understood half of that,” Bitty remarked. They sat down on one of the benches. Bitty began to wrestle with the half-frozen laces on his sneakers, fingers still numb, while Jack fiddled with the locker to their right.  
   
“Only half?”  
   
“Quiet, you.” Bitty shoved him. “Not all of us can be blessed with bilingualism.” Jack cocked an eyebrow, but Bitty knew it for the smirk it truly was. “Oh, hush,” he said. “I’m getting better.”  
   
“Yes,” Jack agreed. He bent down to untie his own shoes. “I’ll have to start watching what I say now, eh, Bittle?”  
   
Bitty narrowed his eyes. “I think you’re chirping me, mister.”  
   
_“Non.”_  
   
One shoe off, one skate on, jeans half-rolled up and hat falling off his head, Bitty turned round, crossed his eyes, and stuck out his tongue. Jack couldn’t help but laugh.  
   
“Ha,” Bitty said, satisfied. He slid on his second skate, then grabbed his phone out of his jacket.  
   
“Ha?”  
   
“Made you— _hey_!”  
   
“You don’t need to tweet this, Bits.” Jack stuck the phone into his pocket. “What if one of your followers read it and then came and found us here?”  
   
“Jack Zimmermann,” Bitty said, glaring, “you give that back.”  
   
“Later.” Just to be irritating, Jack pressed a kiss to Bitty’s cheek. Bitty’s ears turned red, but he crossed his arms.  
   
“I wasn’t tweeting, anyway. I don’t even have any followers in Montreal.”  
   
“Doesn’t my dad follow you?”  
   
“That doesn’t count!”  
   
“Come on, Bits.” Both skates now strapped tight to his feet, guards off, hat in place (but no sunglasses, Shitty had no less than three separate lectures on the kind of pretentious douchebags who wore sunglasses indoors, and Jack had heard every single one of them), Jack nodded to the rink. “Are we going to skate or what?”  
   
Bitty huffed out a breath, still looking a bit irately at the pocket that held his phone, but then rolled his eyes and leaned in to Jack’s shoulder. “Okay,” he said. “But now you’re responsible for taking pictures, just so you know.”  
   
“Deal,” Jack said. He stood up and adjusted the camera strap around his neck, before reaching down and pulling Bitty to his feet, even though he knew better than anyone that Bitty didn’t need the assist. He stopped to brush an errant blond wisp off of Bitty’s forehead, then moved back a few feet to lean against the outer wall of the rink and, quick as anything, had lifted the camera up to eye level and snapped a picture.  
   
He took two more in rapid succession, solely to capture the expression of outrage on Bitty’s face when he realized what Jack was doing.  
   
“Hey! Jack! I wasn’t ready!”  
   
“You looked ready to me.”  
   
“Ugh, that’s not fair, I wasn’t even looking at the camera.”  
   
“That’s not the point of the picture, Bits.”  
   
“ _Jack._ ”  
   
Jack’s lips curved upward as he resettled the camera securely around his neck. He extended a hand towards Bitty. “You coming?”  
   
Bitty snorted. “Yes, yes. Lord, you’d think I’d be used to this sort of treatment by now.” He sighed, mostly to the ceiling, before stepping over to the gate, narrowly avoiding getting bowled over by two little girls rushing through from the other side. “Aw,” he said, entranced by their matching pigtails and sequined dresses. “Jack, honey, look. That’s adorable.”  
   
Already on the ice, Jack leaned over and prodded him in the side. Bitty yelped.  
   
“You’re adorable,” Jack deadpanned, when he had Bitty’s attention again.  
   
Predictably, Bitty flushed. Jack poked him again, this time in the stomach. He reached out for a third attempt, but Bitty managed to bat his hand away.  
   
“What on earth are you doing that for?” he demanded. “Stop poking me, are you five?”  
   
“Adorable,” Jack repeated. Bitty stared at him helplessly, and Jack’s lips turned up in a small, crooked grin. He winked, then skated off.  
   
Eyes narrowed to slits, Bitty clambered onto the ice after him. “Oh,” he said. “It’s _on_ now, Mr. Zimmermann.”  
   
Despite Jack’s head start, he was barely more than halfway around the rink before Bitty caught up to him, weaving in and out of toddlers and parents and high school girls all holding hands together in one long and unsteady line of four. He had absolutely no compunctions about slamming into Jack from behind.  
   
“ _Oof,”_ said Jack, but kept his balance even as Bitty clasped his hands around Jack’s waist, letting Jack bear the majority of the effort for their skating.  
   
“Your checks are getting better, Bits,” Jack said, when Bitty let go after one final squeeze to glide up next to him.  
   
“Yeah?”  
   
Jack nodded seriously. “I almost wobbled a little this time.”  
   
“Oh, very funny.” Bitty rolled his eyes, rested his hand on Jack’s forearm. “I’ll get you one of these days.”  
   
“Got to keep practicing then. Maybe tomorrow we should—”  
   
“Oh lord.” Bitty shook his head.  
   
Turning around so that he was sliding backwards, Jack lifted his camera, managing a perfect shot of Bitty, eyes closed, rubbing his temples in despair. “There’s good light in this rink,” he commented.  
   
“Yeah?” Bitty glanced around. “Maybe we should come here more often. I like the wood paneling. Gives it a nice, old-timey look, doesn’t it? Almost like a roller rink.”  
   
“I haven’t been here since I was a kid.”  
   
“Have you even been to a public skate since you were a kid?”  
   
Though Bitty had meant it as a joke, Jack frowned, his brow furrowing as he considered the question. “You know,” he said, “I don’t remember the last time I did?”  
   
“Well.” Bitty looped his arm through Jack’s, brown eyes open and honest. “What do you think?”  
   
This, too, Jack took a moment to answer. As he thought, they skated slowly counterclockwise, separating when necessary to avoid an obstacle or an unwary five-year-old, but generally keeping together.  
   
“I like it,” Jack said finally, when they had done another circuit. He shrugged at Bitty’s questioning look. “It’s kind of nice, you know? To just skate around? No expectations or anything? It’s…relaxing.”  
   
Bitty beamed up at him. “We should definitely come again.”  
   
“Gotta stop at the ATM again then.”  
   
“Oh, hush.” Bitty gave him a light push. Using the momentum, he then glided towards the center of the ice, did a few turns, and then a small jump. Jack raised his eyebrows.  
   
“Showing off now?”  
   
“Come on,” Bitty said, coming back to him. He struck a pose, arching his back, tilting his chin up. Jack’s throat was suddenly, inexplicably, dry. “I’m _relaxing_.”  
   
“That’s not relaxing.”  
   
“It is for me.”  
   
“Well…”  
   
But whatever Jack was going to say next died in his throat as behind them, he heard someone say loudly in French, “ _Wow, in hockey skates!”_  
   
“Um…” said Jack, trailing off and staring past Bitty’s left shoulder. Bitty gave him a concerned look and then, following the direction of Jack’s gaze, turned around.  
   
The guy who skated up to them, slim, brown hair, shorter than Jack but definitely taller than Bitty, continued to exclaim in French. He waggled exaggerated fingers at Bitty’s skates, shaking his head, laughing to himself. He repeated something else at Bitty, who flushed, waving his hands and tripping over his tongue.  
   
“Sorry, sorry,” he said. “You’re going too fast for me.”  
   
The guy’s eyes widened, but then so did his smile. “Oh, so sorry!” he said. “You must be visiting!”  
   
Bitty and Jack exchanged glances.  
   
“Uh…” said Bitty. “Yes?”  
   
“That’s great! Montreal is my city. It’s so wonderful to have visitors—”  
   
Jack gritted his teeth.  
   
“—I just came over because I saw you trying to do that jump and was going to suggest maybe you should try something like these,” he indicated his own skates, “with the toe pick, you see.”  
   
“Oh,” Bitty said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, actually, I—”  
   
“He did do the jump,” Jack growled.  
   
The guy turned to him, “But he could do better with these,” he said, either ignoring or completely misinterpreting the way Jack’s jaw worked. “Right?”  
   
“Do you, um,” said Bitty. He bit his lip. “Do you do a lot of figure skating?”  
   
“A lot?” the man exclaimed. “I would say I do! Don’t you recognize me?”  
   
“No,” said Jack flatly.  
   
The guy deflated a millimeter. “Well, it happens sometimes. I—”  
   
“Wait,” Bitty said, and there was something in his voice, something tremulous. He was looking more carefully at the guy now, eyes lingering in a way that almost made Jack want to check him on principle. Then his face lit up. “Wait, hold on, I do know you! You’re Jean-Jacques Leroy!”  
   
The man preened. “Wow!” he said. “So flattering to be recognized!”  
   
“Ohmigosh,” said Bitty, now fanning himself. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you immediately.” He swiveled to look at Jack, tugging on his shirtsleeve. “Hey, Jack, Jack, this is J.J. Leroy! He won the—”  
   
“Uh huh,” said Jack, still incredibly wary.  
   
“I used to watch your routines when I was in Juniors,” Bitty gushed, turning back to J.J. His hands were pressed tightly to his warm cheeks. Jack thought, uncomfortably, that he looked about the same as he had when encountering Kent Parson for the first time at the Haus party. “I was rooting for you at the Grand Prix— _loved_ the song, by the way. You wrote it yourself, didn’t you? I almost put it on the mix for one of the kegsters but Ransom took it off because Holster wouldn’t stop singing it—”  
   
J.J.’s expression, which had faded a little at the mention of the Grand Prix Final, brightened again.  
   
“You were in Juniors? So you did used to skate?”  
   
“Oh yes,” Bitty sighed. “Years ago now, though. Nothing at your level, of course.”  
   
J.J. waved him away. “Not everyone can make it that far,” he said, also not noticing the way Jack was beginning to sort of loom directly behind Bitty’s shoulder. “But why did you stop?”  
   
Obviously not expecting that question, Bitty’s cheeks went pinker. “Um—well—” he stuttered. “I mean, we—we moved and, and lessons were expensive and, well, Co—my daddy wanted me in team sports and there was this hockey league…”  
   
J.J. spread his arms wide, brown locks flying artfully to the side of his part. “No, no, that’s too bad! You should have kept with the skating!” He cocked his head, looking down at Bitty as though through new eyes. “I’m sure you make a much better figure skater than hockey player!” He tapped his nose, nodding knowingly at Bitty. “With your build, especially!”  
   
“Um.” Bitty’s eyes darted away to his feet, while Jack didn’t even bother to hide his scowl. “I mean, I like to think I’ve improved—”  
   
“But it is totally different, a totally different set of skills—you really need _style_ for the free skating, right? Not like hockey—”  
   
“Hey,” Bitty said sharply, finding his voice again. The star-struck look was beginning to fade. Jack struggled not to feel vindicated by this. “I happen to like hockey quite a lot, thank you.”  
   
Of all possible responses, neither Bitty nor Jack was expecting J.J. to throw his head back and laugh. “But of course you like hockey. Everyone likes hockey!” He nodded. “My bandmates and I play _all the time_. It is hard, yes, but not like figure skating.”  
   
“All…” Jack said slowly. “All the time.”  
   
J.J. blinked, almost as if noticing Jack there for the first time. “Yes?”  
   
“All the time,” Jack repeated, just to make sure he’d heard correctly. “You must be, um,” he made himself say it, “good.”  
   
J.J. squinted at him. “A couple times a week at least, like today, when I’m not practicing my routine. I’d say we’re pretty good. You look familiar, do I know you?”  
   
“Doubtful,” said Jack, while Bitty tried not to choke.  
   
“Anyway,” said J.J. “What I was going to come over here to say was, you get tired of those hockey skates, maybe I can show you some pointers some time, eh? Some jumps?”  
   
“Oh,” said Bitty. “Um, I don’t really know…” He glanced at Jack, who shrugged at him, face very, very blank.  
   
“Oh no, you definitely should. It’s fine! I have the rink reserved at the end of the public skate today, sometimes we like to help out the novices, you know? Like giving back to the community. How long are you here for?”  
   
Bitty looked taken aback for a moment, but then his face cleared, to be replaced by an incredibly polite smile. His eyes slid over to Jack for a second, and whatever he must’ve seen in Jack’s expression must have pleased him, for the smile grew just the tiniest bit.  
   
Recognizing that look, Jack took an unconscious half-step backwards.  
   
“Ooh, you know what,” said Bitty, “we’ve actually been looking for some people to play shinny with. You know…” his smile widened, showing just the hint of teeth“…while I’m here and visiting and all.” He batted his eyes beatifically. “If you have the rink, maybe we could play a quick game with you guys? That would be, like, the _peak Montreal experience_. And then you could show me your jumps?”  
   
“Well,” said J.J magnanimously, still mostly ignoring Jack. “If you’d like, they’d probably be up to it.”  
   
“Oh, gosh,” said Bitty, “Really? That’d be _wonderful_. Just what we’ve been looking for. Right, Jack?” He turned to Jack.  
   
“Uh, yeah,” said Jack, after a split second too long. “Great.”  
   
Bitty swung back to J.J. “We’ll be there with bells on.”  
   
As they went over the details (“Public skate’s over in a few hours, but just stick around or come back and we can play”), Jack tried to look relaxed and calm, less like a professional hockey player whose entire livelihood had just been insulted, and more like a guy showing his ‘friend’ the time of his life in the city.  
   
Finally, J.J glided away, doing a few jumps in the center, to scattered applause on the other side. Bitty shook his head. “Come on.” He grabbed for Jack’s hand. “Let’s go get something to eat.”  
   
“Bits,” Jack ventured, as they left the rink for the coffee shop on the other side, “what exactly are we doing?”  
   
In response, Bitty stopped, rotating around to face him head on. He put his palms on either side of Jack’s cheeks, drawing him down to his own eye level. “Jack, honey,” he said seriously, “we are going to _crush him_.”  
   
Jack was pretty sure he’d never been so in love.  
   
   
#  
   
   
What Bitty probably hadn’t taken into account was that while J.J. Leroy might not have recognized Jack’s face, his two bandmates were a little more alert to the comings and goings of one of Montreal’s most infamous sons.  
   
“ _Holy fuck_ ,” one said to J.J. in French. His whole head was shaved. “ _J.J._ , _why are we playing shinny against Jack Zimmermann?”_  
   
_“What?”_ J.J. said, looking up.  
   
From the other side of the boards, Jack gave a small wave.  
   
“Oh yeah.” Clearly understanding at least that much, Bitty bustled around. “That’s Jack all right. You met him this afternoon, remember? Should be fine, though, right? Three against two?”  
   
“I did not sign up to get checked by one of the NHL’s top scorers,” the other bandmate muttered. “Uh,” he added, giving a side eye to Jack, “can I have your autograph when this is all over though?”  
   
Jack scratched his head. “Sure, man,” he said, quietly pleased when Bitty cast a proud glance over at him at his response.  
   
J.J. slowly skated up to the boards. “You’re Jack Zimmermann?”  
   
“Uh huh.”  
   
“You…play for the NHL?”  
   
“Yeah.”  
   
“Your dad…”  
   
“Yep.”  
   
“Huh,” J.J. said. His expression seemed to be wavering between perplexity and doubt, but a split second later he was back to his previous good cheer. “Well!” he exclaimed, turning away to catch eyes with his two friends. “A match between Montreal’s Hockey Prince—”  
   
Jack thought maybe, if he stared long and hard enough, he might succeed in setting J.J.’s hair on fire telepathically.  
   
“—and me, King J.J.” He struck a pose. Jack stared. “This should be good!”  
   
Bitty had made it onto the ice at this point, stick in hand, smiling winsomely at their hosts. “Oh no,” he said, “you gentlemen are absolutely right though. It’s totally unfair to have a professional hockey player on one team—”  
   
“Now, wait a minute,” J.J. said, visibly puffing up, “I’m sure—”  
   
“We’ll have to give him a handicap of some kind,” Bitty continued relentlessly. He pursed his lips, as though thinking, though Jack was pretty sure he already knew what Bitty had in mind. “I know!” he said brightly, after another moment of the two bandmates gazing uneasily at each other and then at Jack, and J.J. looking mostly confused. “Jack’s not allowed to check anyone. How’s that for a handicap, huh?” He beamed. “Two against three, Jack’s not allowed to check.” He batted his eyes. “Y'all don’t mind if _I_ can do some checking though, do you?”  
   
“I don’t know if that’s really necessary,” J.J. began, but his bandmate put a hand over his mouth.  
   
“No, man, sounds good.”  
   
The goals were battered but functional. None of the five were set up to play goalie, so they all gathered around center ice, Jack and J.J. in position for the faceoff. Bitty had scrounged up a whistle from somewhere, which he’d handed to the bandmate with the shaved head, who stepped back a little, before giving it one, sharp blow.  
   
True to his training, Jack won the faceoff. He took the puck straight down the middle, artfully weaving between J.J. and the bandmate on his left, careful not to touch. He could sense Bitty to his own left and, more for the fun of it than any real need, sent the puck sliding his way. Bitty of course caught it, played with it for a bit, then sent it back to Jack, who netted it with a casual flick of the wrist.  
   
They returned to center ice to start again.  
   
To Jack’s grudging surprise, J.J. was halfway decent. Not NHL decent, by any means, but he might have scraped by as third line material at Samwell. The advantage of numbers on the other side also meant that they did manage to take possession of the puck on occasion, though none of the three were going to be claiming top scoring titles anytime soon.  
   
It was about thirty minutes in that J.J., whose skating prowess also showed itself in his speed, finally took halfway decent possession of the puck. Jack, blocked on both sides from J.J.’s two wingers, could only watch, thwarted from chasing after him.  
   
Bitty though, clearly wasn’t having any such issues. In a move more reminiscent of his early days on Samwell’s hockey team rather than how he’d been playing recently, he spun around the both of them and tore off after J.J.  
   
J.J. was better with a stick than Jack would have given him credit for. He managed to avoid Bitty’s attempts to take the puck back. Instead he banked to the right, readying to take the shot and—  
   
_WHAM_. Bitty checked him straight into the boards. The puck slid away to freedom. J.J. groaned.  
   
Clearly Jack had been wrong before. He had obviously never been more in love than at _this_ particular moment.  
   
“Way to go, Bits!” he called out, before he could stop himself. In front of him and to the side, the two bandmates were staring, mouths agape. Jack glided easily around them.  
   
Back at the boards, J.J. was gasping.  
   
“Oops,” Bitty said innocently. He stepped away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you so hard.”  
   
J.J., still trying to catch his breath, managed a brief thumbs up, then a wince. “You—do you always check like that?”  
   
Bitty shrugged. “Well,” he said modestly. “I’m no professional, but I did play on the line with Jack for a few years in college.”  
   
“Ah,” J.J. wheezed, just as Jack grabbed Bitty and immediately subjected him to a celebratory headlock.  
   
While they wrestled, J.J. was able to get to his feet. “I’m um,” he said, still rubbing his side a little, “I’m going to go talk over with my friends, but I think, um, maybe that’s been enough hockey for me today. If you don’t mind.”  
   
“Oh, sure,” said Jack, only halfway paying attention. “C’mon, Bits,” he said, as J.J. skated away, “stop wriggling so much, I’m trying to do a celly here!”  
   
“This is _not_ a proper celly!” came the muffled protest. “Jack!”  
   
Jack let him go but immediately bent over to whisper in his ear. “Sweet check, Bits. You should have seen his face.”  
   
Bitty smirked up at him. “Thanks, hon.”  
   
Jack slung an arm over his shoulders. “Let’s get off the ice.”  
   
Back over at the bench, Jack bent to tug at his skates, his mood already improved considerably from the afternoon. He didn’t even notice until one skate was already off, that Bitty hadn’t even started to unlace.  
   
“Bits? You okay?”  
   
Bitty blinked at him, then jerked his head back towards the ice. “I feel kind of bad—like we kicked a puppy or something,” he whispered. He was looking over at J.J., whose despondent gloom was noticeable clear on the other side of the rink. He was lifting his arm to submit to his friends’ probing and concern.  
   
Still.  
   
Jack snorted, pulling off his other skate. “He’s fine.”  
   
Bitty punched him in the arm.  
   
“Ow!” said Jack, startled.  
   
“Jack Zimmermann, he’s clearly not fine. Look at him.”  
   
Jack looked. “He’s fine.”  
   
Bitty gave him a severe stare, though quickly ruined it when he rubbed at his fist. “Ow.”  
   
“You didn’t have to hit me,” Jack pointed out.  
   
“Your arms are too hard.”  
   
“You like my arms,” Jack said, trying for his best leer. It wasn’t entirely successful, but it did get Bitty to huff out a laugh. “You do,” he insisted, still mostly maintaining a straight face.  
   
Bitty patted his cheek fondly. “You’re right, honey. I love your arms. Especially when they’re—” he winked, “—hard.” His eyebrows drew together in concern. “I didn’t actually hurt you, did I?  
   
“Nah, it’s fine, Bits.”  
   
“Good.”  
   
Jack grinned openly. Bitty matched it for a moment, but then his smile faded. He exhaled.  
   
“Still,” he said firmly, “he did invite us here. I guess I’d better go cheer him up.”  
   
“You didn’t bring any pie or anything with you though.” Jack frowned. “Did you?”  
   
“Not this time,” Bitty said, clearly regretful. He brightened. “I’ll just ask him to show me some jumps. That should do the trick.”  
   
“Bits, it’s almost nine o’clock.”  
   
“Oh hush, you.” Bitty gripped Jack’s shoulder, using it to step over the bench to the other side. “I can’t bear to see him so despondent. I feel terrible now.”  
   
“I don’t.”  
   
Bitty shot him a look. “Yes, mister, you’ve made that clear.” He let go of Jack’s shoulder. “It won’t be for too long. Promise.”  
   
“Okay,” Jack grumbled. He settled himself more firmly on the bench while Bitty made his way back to the ice. Jack watched as Bitty approached J.J., talking quietly, then more animatedly. J.J.’s gloom seemed to lift, his back straightening, the smile returning to his face.  
   
Jack sighed and readied his camera. At least he’d probably get some good shots out of this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I caved and got a tumblr. Username: Aerlalaith


End file.
